And now I was losing her.

“I’ll remember, Momma,” I murmured. “Always.”

“I don’t want a funeral,” she said, so quietly that I could have imagined it if she hadn’t continued. “I only have you, Ursula, a couple coworkers that I go out with after work. It’d be a waste of money.”

The coughing took her then. She lasted another week.

When she passed, I honored her wish not to hold a funeral, but I made sure the whole world knew how much I’d loved her. I had only a handful of photos of her—her family had been from Florida, she said, either long passed or too far removed to make a difference, and they hadn’t been good to her, and she’d had a Mr. Harken (my dad) for only about five minutes—so it didn’t take me long to pick one for the obituary.

The obit was my finest writing to date, but I felt alone in the world. I moved back in with Ursula, but I didn’t feel like she was enough. I needed someone who was just mine.

That’s when Deck came into my life.

And we were going to have a child, a baby that Dr. Krause thought I might harm. I may not have planned to become pregnant, but I would never hurt my baby. He had no right to enter that in my notes.

“Joan!”

The grip is firm on my arm.

“Catherine,” I say, turning to face Clan’s wife. Migrant Mother.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Catherine is smiling, but her eyes are pinched. “I’ve been chasing you down Augusta Avenue for nearly two blocks! I was visiting family at the nursing home across from Dr. Krause’s office. I saw you come out.”

I wish I’d brought my sunglasses. The morning is bright. “I was getting a checkup.”

Catherine is suddenly standing beside me, her arm caping my shoulders, her head too close. “The whole town is so excited about your baby,” she whispers. “Certainly those of us who live on Mill Street. It’s been so long since we had an infant in the neighborhood. Now, you must tell me all the details.”

I push her arm off and step away. I know it’s rude. “There’s not much to share. The baby is healthy. I’m healthy.”

Her jaw hardens. “Forgive me.”

A horn honks up the street. I run my hand across my face. Breathe. Realize I must appear even-tempered or people will talk. More than they already are. “No, it’s me who should be apologizing. I’ve felt a little off recently, is all. The baby is truly fine. Dr. Krause seems very nice.”

Catherine immediately returns her arm to my shoulders. She’s herding me down the street. Is she leading me toward Schmidt Insurance? “Dr. Krause is a gem,” she agrees. “We’re so lucky to have him. He’s not originally from around here. Did you know that? He came to us from North Dakota back in the ’40s. We’ve since made him one of our own.”

“His offices are very modern.”

Catherine laughs. It’s a high, tinny sound that draws some glances. “I know you think this is the boondocks, but Lilydale is not some backwater town.”

How can Catherine possibly know what I think? We’ve spoken only the one time she dropped off a casserole. I am no open book.

Catherine leans in again, even though she’s already too close. We’re almost at the Ben Franklin. Her tone is conspiratorial, naughty. “I was with your husband on Friday.”

I jerk back.

That thin laugh again, almost a shriek. “Got you! I’m referring to the Fathers meeting, of course. I was one of the Mothers who served them that night. Left to their own, those poor old sods would starve in a kitchen with a stocked refrigerator and a working stove.” She changes tack so quickly it’s difficult to keep up. “Please say you’ll come to our Mothers’ dinner party tonight. There will only be a few of us there, and it’s at my house. Right next door! You must join us.”

My skin feels as fragile as spun sugar. I realize we’ve stopped.

In front of Ben Franklin.

How did she know this was my destination?

“All right,” I say. Don’t seem uncooperative.

Catherine pecks my cheek. Her lips are dry, and she smells of pressed face powder. I think she must be in her late fifties or early sixties, like everyone else on Mill Street, and I don’t like her at all.

“Lovely. I’ll let you bring a dessert,” Catherine is saying. “It is so nice to have Deck back in town. Thank you for bringing him home.”

I shade my eyes so I can watch her walk two blocks before disappearing down Lake Avenue. Then, rather than enter Ben Franklin, I hurry to the phone booth on the corner. I slide open the door.

My hand is steady as I shift my handbag so I can access my coin purse. I locate a dime and drop it in the slot. I dial the number from memory.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

I know someone is watching me. I feel it like dead fingers up my spine. I pivot quickly in the booth, staring toward Lake Avenue.

No one is there.

I hang up and walk to Ben Franklin.

The cloisonné pineapple brooch is in my pocket.

I could return it.

But I don’t.

CHAPTER 22

Deck is pleased to see me when I drop by Schmidt Insurance after filling my prescription. He’s leaning over a map rolled out on a large table, his father on one side, Clan Brody—Catherine’s husband, Clan the Brody Bear—on the other. Deck’s jacket is off, his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

I still feel an electric jolt when I see him like this, engrossed, capable. When he spots me, his face lights up. It makes the whole shaky, crazy world seem solid.

For a moment.

I go to Deck. The map they’re poring over is of a town—Lilydale?—with lurid red Xs carved over sections. Ronald is smiling at me, Clan is smiling at me, and Deck is leading me to the break room. I note the filing cabinets lining the walls, a mob of them, and no secretary behind the desk. Mrs. Swanson must be at a late lunch.

“How did it go?” Deck asks once he has me in the break room.

I close the door and lean against it. “Fine, I suppose.”

He wraps me in his arms. “You don’t seem fine.”

“The doctor said I couldn’t drink.”

Deck steps back so he can see my face. He squeezes my shoulders. “I told you, baby. I’ll quit drinking in public, too. We’ll tipple at home until we’re soused, if you want. When I think how much champagne we swallowed the night we made this one, I figure he must be immune to it.” He addresses the next part at my belly. “Isn’t that right, little buddy?”

I relax for the first time all day. “I read the doctor’s notes. He put down that I’m uncooperative.” I can’t bring myself to say the last part. A risk.

Deck barks with laughter. “What’d you do? Refuse some tests?”

“Nothing. That’s the truth. I cracked a joke. It didn’t land well.”

He kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll vouch for you if it comes to that.”

“Hold me again, Deck.”

“Sure, darling.” He pulls me back into his arms.

“I ran into Catherine on the way here,” I say into his chest. “She invited me to a Mothers’ dinner party tonight.”